Valhalla
by reesa26
Summary: "I'm sure we'll see each other again." She said. "Perhaps in the afterlife or even in another lifetime." He scoffed. "No. We will most certainly not. For you see Mudblood, after all this, after all the things I will be accomplishing, I will most definitely not be going to the place that you will be." He said with a bittersweet smile on his handsome face. [One-shot]


**TITLE:** Valhalla

**DETAILS:** (Tomione) (T) (Romance and Angst)

**SETTING:** Canon Verse. Different Timeline. Early 1940's.

**PLOT:** The hands of Fate weaves enigmas. "I'm sure we'll see each other again." She said. "Perhaps in the afterlife or even in another lifetime." He scoffed. "No. We will most _certainly_ not. For you see Mudblood, after all this, after all the things I will be accomplishing, I will most definitely _not_ be going to the place that you will be." He said with a bittersweet smile on his handsome face. [One-shot]

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger. Ugh! I just LOVE this pairing! There is something very sinister with dear old Tom and I just love that in a character. And add in the fact that the only intellectual that can match the brightest witch of her age, Hermione, is none other than the heir of Slytherin, TM Riddle. :D Sometimes, I wish that they are real. Unfortunately, they aren't. (sigh) -.- So I'd just have to stick to my imagination.

**DISCLAIMER:** This is a work of fiction. Any name, thing, situation and idea mentioned in this story that is similarly related to real life is purely coincidental. HARRY POTTER® belongs to J.K. Rowling. No profit was made on the creation of this fic.

* * *

_In __Norse mythology__, __**Valhalla **__is a majestic, enormous hall located in __Asgard__, ruled over by the god __Odin__. Chosen by Odin, half of those who die in combat travel to Valhalla upon death. (Wikipedia)_

**...**

The sky was painted grey. Like a bad omen, proclaiming to anyone who had the decency to notice its presence. A storm is coming, but it is unlike any other who came before it. The heavens depict a silent warning, certain things will be happening and _soon_.

A dark haired male was walking along the empty halls of an endless corridor. He looked like a ghost. A very enchanting ghost that glides amongst the vacant space of the halls of Hogwarts. His steps were brisk yet silent, never uttering a sound. The man has an angel's face. He possesses a sharp jawline, a pointy nose, high cheekbones, thin lips, soft angled eyebrows and pale skin. His dark hair frames his face most elegantly, not a single strand out of place. A handsome man indeed. Yet his eyes tell a different story. Dark obsidian eyes that will pull you to the depths of the unknown. It opens the windows to a soul of murder, agony and treachery. A soul swimming in the sea of evil and darkness.

Tonight this man has a mission. The final piece in this game of chess. It will be the catalyst for all of his plans. After this night, he will no longer be human. He will transcend the atrocity that is mortality. He will be reborn anew and he will never face death _again_.

However, there is a certain thing that he must first accomplish. The last revelry and farewell to an interesting creature. A creature wrapped in light yet smothered by pain. He first met her in his fifth year. She appeared out of thin air inside the Room of Requirement. Her hair an untamable mass of brown curls and her eyes a fathomless pair of molten axinite. She was a mystery, a puzzle. The _riddle_ in his boring life. She was vicious and cunning. Intelligent and resilient. She was a proud lion in his den of serpents. Yet it seems as fate had other ideas. This bright creature, whose blood is as filthy as mud and yet whose whole being is as enchanting as a deity, will be in death's door in a few minutes.

The symptoms of her illness appeared six months after her suspicious arrival. Her magic slowly deteriorated in the following weeks. She looked tired, weak and gaunt. Her abomination of Gryffindor friends tried to persuade her to go to St. Mungo's but the witch vehemently denied the need to see a Healer. Tom was both impressed and irritated to find that despite her weakened state, the annoying twit was still able to defeat his Knights in a full blown out duel.

She really was an enigma. Hermione Granger. The girl from hell, as she eloquently put it when he had interrogated her. She had evaded him since the beginning. She ignored his brilliance, withered his polite attempts at conversation and despised his charming appearance. She was the only girl that did not fall for his charms. As a matter of fact, it appears that she hated seeing him and would immediately bolt out of a room whenever he arrives in the vicinity. A haunting look is always present on her face whenever they cross paths and her eyes, behind the brown veil of nonchalance, radiates strong waves of anxiety and loathing every time she directs her gaze at him.

This spiked his curiosity and interest for the witch. Everything pertaining to her is a blank slate. No information about her whereabouts, her parents, friends or any other acquaintances. No academic and medical records suggest that she is even alive. The Mudblood just appeared out of nowhere and it seems that any minute now, she will be gone in a flash yet again. And that will not do.

The heir of Slytherin wanted to know everything there is to learn. He wants to discover the most potent of potions, the most dangerous spells, the most vicious curses and now, he wants to learn the little Mudblood's secrets. And what Tom Riddle wants, he always gets.

_Always._

* * *

The large wooden door of the hospital wing opened without a sound and the deathly pale man curtly entered. He moved towards the right end corner of the room, to the only occupied bed in the entire ward. A frail figure lay unmoving in the bed. Dark chestnut curls, with a hint of honey adorned a fragile face. A face so thin and so light, that it appears as if it has never received the ray of sunlight. The feeble rise and fall of the chest is the only indication that the occupant is still alive and breathing.

He stood beside the bed for a few minutes then went to sit at the wooden chair alongside it.

"What are you doing here?" A small voice asked.

Tom gave his most charming smile. "What do you think?"

The bed's occupant gave a heavy sigh. "You won't get what you want Riddle. Not now. Not ever."

His obsidian eyes flashed and a tint of blood red appeared. "We both know that _that_ is not my name, Mudblood." He whispered darkly.

The witch spared him a glance. "You'll always be Tom Riddle to me."

"I am Lord Voldemort. And you are just a pathetic little Muggle-born that will be gone in a few seconds." He cruelly sneered.

She stared at him before moving her gaze to the high ceiling. "Are you going to kill me?" She calmly asked.

He smirked at her. "Scared?"

"No." She closed her eyes. "I won't last long either way."

He narrowed his eyes. Even in the face of death, she is resilient and Tom absolutely hated her for it. Nothing is worse than death. Nothing. And yet this little girl acts as if she is merely greeting an old friend.

"No last words, Granger?"

Hermione heaved a fit of dry coughs but didn't reply. Tom watched her briefly before standing up. He approached the bed and crouched down in order to reach her small frame.

"Well, since you are one of the few who'll be able to understand, I'll be letting you on a secret." He whispered mysteriously in her ear. His voice, a soft baritone, similar to that of a lover's caress. "Tonight will be my last night as a wretched mortal." Tom breathed softly and he watched with satisfaction as the witch stiffened, her breathing labored and her eyes widened marginally.

Hermione slowly leveled her gaze towards him and murmured, "Is that the reason you're here?" Of course. _Of course_. Hermione thought bitterly. In order to split one's soul, one must commit the most atrocious thing a human being could do. The supreme act of evil. The fundamental requirement in creating a Horcrux. _Murder_.

Tom smiled darkly. His cold obsidian eyes followed the movement of her trembling lips. "Hmph. Yes and no. I _will_ kill you, make no mistake of that, but not before you answer my questions."

"There is nothing left for me to answer, Riddle." Hermione tiredly replied.

"On the contrary," Tom said as he grabbed her chin. "There are tons of questions that you need to answer, Granger. Starting with, _where are you from?_"

"I'm from England. How many times do I have to-"

Tom broke her of by tightening his grip on her jaw. "Lie. That's a lie!" He hissed. "Tell me. Tell me or I swear to Salazar-"

"I don't care." She stonily shot back. "There is nothing that will make me-"

_Silencio!_ Hermione's voice disappeared and she stared horrified at Riddle.

"Is that so?" Riddle quietly asked. "Are you so sure about that, Mudblood?" He then brandished his wand and pointed it at her chest. _Crucio!_

Pain.

Unbelievable pain erupted from her body. The feeling of a thousand burning needles prickling her skin and straight down to the bones hit Hermione. The waves of agony grew into proportions, trickling into the depths of her flesh and blinding her from the sheer intensity of it. She couldn't breathe. She felt like choking as she desperately tried to inhale large gulps of air into her lungs. Small beads of perspiration slowly appeared in her clammy forehead. Another spasm of pain shot throughout her body and Hermione felt the need to throw up. She bit her lips.

Enough.

_Enough_!

And suddenly, as if hearing her thoughts, Riddle lifted the curse and the pain dulled into a hollow ache. "Is that it? I was expecting you to give more of a fight actually." Riddle said with a veiled sneer of contempt.

Hermione lurched over and expelled the blood out of her lungs. Riddle looked on, with a hint of disgust on his face, as it splattered all over her thin white hospital dress.

"Pitiful." He remarked. "The flaws of the human body never fails to repulse me." Riddle gave her a cold smile and tutted. "You've gotten weak. Just three weeks of an unknown illness and you're reduced to that pitiful state." He sighed. "What do you think Granger? Shall I invite one of your new Gryffindor friends to my small gatherings in the Forbidden Forest? I'm afraid I'll have to do that if you don't start speaking now."

Hermione froze. A deep loathing threatened to burst from her chest. "_Don't you dare!"_ She cried out, her voice raspy and unrecognizable. "Don't you dare say that again!" She was shaking from cold fury. "If something ever happens to them, I swear I won't stop until I convict you and every last one of your revolting little knights. I'm certain that Professor Dumbledore will also ensure that and you don't want that, do you, _Voldemort_?"

Riddle smirked widely. "No, I suppose I don't." Good. She's taking the bait. It's been a long time since he last saw her like this. Like an enraged goddess ready for a battle. Ever since the disease took over, she has gotten mellow and didn't rise to the bait anymore. It had become strangely boring and Lord Voldemort cannot stand being bored. He had enough of that with his imbecile followers.

Riddle frowned. There is just something about her. Something he couldn't quite get right. He loathes her and her kind. Filthy, disgusting vermin who had no right to learn magic. They do not belong in the magical world and yet...

"Who are you really, Hermione Granger?" He murmured softly. She looked taken aback for a second and then regained her wits to look up at him defiantly. Her brown eyes blazed with anger and her small face contorted into a small frown that made her lips pout in a delectable manner. Riddle's eyes wandered over her frame. Her creamy white neck bare for all of him to see. Her subtle collarbones visible due to her struggled breathing. The fabric of her robes did little to hide her soft curves.

Tom closed his eyes.

It is often said that snakes are deceptive creatures. They entice you with their cunning deceptions and lead you to the path of temptation.

So…

_'Eyes that burn with cold anger and remarkable intelligence.' _

Why is it now…

_'Lips that contain a sharp tongue'. _

That he…

'_A body that holds an exceptional skill in dueling.'_

The heir of Slytherin…

_'A worthy opponent.' _

Is the one being…

_'Skin as soft as silk. The scent of chamomile and tea tree. Would she be as soft as she looks like? Would she taste of-'_

Tom gritted his teeth.

**_No! I am much more than this!_**

"I have given you enough time to talk, Mudblood." He said as he opened his eyes. "Now, tell me so that we can end this farce and I can send you on your merry way to the afterlife."

Hermione simply stared back at him. It is evident that she will fight him all the way until the end. And she will never divulge whatever it is that she is hiding.

Riddle's eyes narrowed into slits. "Have it your way then." He grabbed her throat and pushed her into the bedding. "Say your last goodbye, Granger." He pointed his wand at her temple.

Hermione scanned his face and said, "Goodbye?" Then she snorted. "Fate has a funny way of doing things. I'm sure we'll see each other again. Perhaps in the afterlife or even in another lifetime."

This time it was Tom who scoffed. "No. We will most _certainly_ not. For you see Mudblood, after all this, after all the things I will be accomplishing, I will most definitely _not_ be going to the place that you will be." He said with a bittersweet smile on his handsome face.

Her eyes softened for a fraction and she fixed her penetrating gaze to his pitch-black eyes. His face is very close now. She can already count the number of hair in his eyelashes.

"_Tom_-"

"Farewell, _Hermione_."

The soft touch of lips is the last thing Hermione felt before a flash of green light and then-nothing remained.

* * *

An eerie silence echoed in the night. The entries of the hospital wing closed with a bang, strangely similar as to how the light forever closed its doors in the young man's life. On that fateful day, the 11th of May 1943, Tom Marvolo Riddle bade goodbye to the only link to his scrapped humanity. To the only chance that his fading heart can somehow be healed.

He will never experience the joy of a mother's embrace.

The exhilaration of being a father's pride.

The warmth of a family.

The bond of friendship and camaraderie.

And the passionate attachment that is love.

Then again, he might have tasted an inkling of the latter one, on that lonesome night in the hospital wing. But the only witness to that strange occurrence were the inanimate walls and corners of the room.

And they never uttered a sound.

-**END**-

* * *

***Axinite - **_Axinite is a honey brownish to dark brown gem that is named after axe head like crystal structures.(Gem5dotcom)_

**End Note:** Okay. Okay. So I made Hermione, Tom's first kill for his Horcrux. I love Moaning Myrtle and I know that Voldemort made his first Horcrux after her murder but I'd like to think that Tom did not deliberately try to kill her. Petrify her, yes, but not kill because I don't think he's stupid enough to kill someone while he is still a student and under Dumbledore's nose. But then again he did. Bah! I'll never know how his little psychotic mind works.

Anyway, I will really appreciate any comment, suggestion and complaint that you may have. Also, I don't have a beta for this so in case you find any errors in GSP, feel free to point it out to me on the reviews section. :)

Thanks for reading! :D and belated happy birthday to dear old Voldy! :))

-reesa

**P.S.** Oh, and Tom isn't capable of Legilimency yet in this story.


End file.
